


Apartment Building 13430

by Taeyongsgf



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Angst, Fluffish, Light Angst, M/M, One Shot, Romance, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-13
Updated: 2019-04-13
Packaged: 2020-01-12 14:50:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18448817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taeyongsgf/pseuds/Taeyongsgf
Summary: On a beautiful autumn night two planets encountered each other. At the same time, just a universe away, two asteroids met, their fates intertwining. Apartment building 13430 connected countless souls over its infinite life span, but that night was a spectacle for every observer.





	1. Chapter 1

 

For Julia ♡ 

I know you're gonna kick my ass for being a cheesy fuck but I really think that if souls spoke their own languages yours and mine would somehow speak one.

Alles Gute zum Geburtstag! Ich liebe dich ♡

 

* * *

♡ Trigger Warning: strong language, blood mention 

♡ English isn't my first language so please excuse any mistakes woopwoop

♡ If u wanna contact me, my twitter is: xuxigalaxy 

♡ I hope you'll like this ~

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Apartment Building 13430**

 

A human life, just like the life of a star, includes both birth and death and light and darkness. Just like a star continues to send its brightness through the universe years after its death a human's actions proceed to affect the lives of countless others, sometimes to enormous levels - a concept humans summarize with the term "butterfly effect". 

This is something that is strongly in action in the huge building across the tiny shop that sells second-hand magic to all those who are in need of some. Today, for the first time, the focus isn't on the magic shop. No, our story revolves around four people who met in a cold autumn night.

In many ways one can interpret the standalone building at the corner of the street (the one with the horribly difficult name) as another astrological object. It's a rundown gray building with twenty levels of cheap apartments stacked on top of each other and a handful of broken windows. During nights like these bright lights shine through thin curtains, exposing only the silhouettes of the people living inside 13430. Every apartment contains a tiny world; worlds which would one day disappear, but their effect would be everlasting.

 

**1\. Exoplanet J2126**

 

Through the right window on the 11th floor, one could see the shape of a man behind the window shutter. The man was Jungwoo Kim, an extraordinarily beautiful man with the astonishing talent to not see anything about himself as extraordinary. Strange, maybe. Awkward, definitely. But extraordinary in a _good_ sense? Absolutely not.

Solitude was to Jungwoo as was waking up to a sunny day to other people. He loved it - at least that's what he told himself. After college Jungwoo had gotten used to many things: seeing his friends less and less (adults had a habit of constantly busying themselves with nothing), avoiding junk food (gone were the days where he could live off yumyum and coke), worrying about money (money worries were glued to his ankles like shadows since graduation day) and solitude - his self-imposed favorite state of being.

At times the man felt more like an observer than a real person. Oftentimes he found himself spending unsettlingly long hours on park benches and around bus stations, watching people hurry by, everyone self-centered and occupied with their own lives, barely ever looking around. While he sat there, holding his phone but not really using it, observing keenly, he wondered if he was the strange one or if everyone else felt that way too - as if they spoke a language no one else could comprehend.

For the young man, the human condition was one which build on isolation primarily. It wasn’t loneliness, it was the knowledge that no one has experienced what he had, that no one has suffered _his_ pain and celebrated _his_ joys. Conveying emotions - be it verbally or by written means - meant to only ever convey a rough idea of the feelings harbored inside one’s chest and for Jungwoo that simply wasn’t enough. At first, he’d wanted more: more of the addicting rawness with which he felt everything, more of the joys and the sadness, but more of it from other people. He wanted to know that he wasn't alone in the way he felt everything so intensely. However, disappointment came crashing down on him after a bunch of failed relationships which all felt rather empty.

So, Jungwoo had learned to live with the everlasting feeling of isolation the same way he'd learned to wash his clothes by hand - because he couldn't afford a washing machine - or to cook meals which would last a day or two without tasting weird. But, don't mistake him for a loner, Jungwoo was far from that. Acquaintances he had plenty, friends he had a good handful. Only someone who spoke the same language as him... that person he hadn't met. His language was made up of whispers under the moonlight, questioning his existence and never feeling just the right way of "whole". His language was one he hadn't yet gathered the courage to speak out loud.

Tonight, Jungwoo was eating a single-serving of pasta straight out of the plastic container while watching YouTube videos on different conspiracy theories. For twenty minutes now had he listened to a blonde guy explaining how pyramids were built with the help of extraterrestrial beings. "Guys, I don't mean to scare you, I mean it's not proven yet, but-" The man stopped for dramatic effect and pressed his palms together. "But we do have reason to believe that the government is hiding something from us." Pictures of contracts with the red stamp 'confidential information' appeared on the screen as loud, theatrical sound effects made Jungwoo jump. He stopped the video and put the empty plastic container down on the floor. The pasta had tasted like plastic with ketchup. Well, at least he wasn't hungry anymore.

He got up, peed, checked his phone’s screen just to confirm that no one had messaged him since noon and closed the window. Moonlight peeked through thin clouds. It was too cold outside to leave the window open for long, but inside it had smelled like rotten fish. He'd gone to work early in the morning and forgotten to air the apartment.

In the dirty glass his reflection greeted him. He wore nothing but shorts and his hair was a tousled blonde mess that needed a cut. For a second he observed himself the way he did the people at the bus station. "Where are you going?" he wondered, "What's your tragic background story? How do you give meaning to the nothingness?" He didn't know the answer to the first question. The second and third he didn't want to think about.

Instead, Jungwoo threw himself on the couch and thought about what to do next. He considered eating dessert (in this context: Halloween chocolate that had been half the price a month later) or whether he should just jerk off and go to bed. Contemplating his options, he opened his laptop again.

The doorbell rang loud.

He froze, definitely not expecting the loud noise to echo through his apartment at one in the morning. Of course, he would pretend he wasn’t home.

"I'm telling you guys: Area 51 exists and I have someone - I can't tell you his name though - who actually was there! Inside! If that isn't fucking incredible-" 

Accidentally, Jungwoo had pressed play again.

"No," he mumbled as he snapped his laptop shut. "Shut the fuck up."

"Are you there, Jungwoo?" came a deep voice from the other side of the door. Unmistakably, the voice belonged to his neighbor Luke. Why he was knocking at his door that late though was an unsolved mystery. "It's me, Lucas. It's an emergency. I'm not dying though. Yet."

Lucas – not _Luke_ – sounded panicked. Panicked enough for Jungwoo to decide to open the door. He slid into a The Smiths shirt which he’d bought after watching _500 Days Of Summer_ a few times too often and opened the door. 

His neighbor was holding his right ear with both hands. Blood was running down from his ear to his neck and formed little red patches on his white hoodie.

"Fuck." Jungwoo opened the door for Lucas to come in. "Are you okay? What happened?" 

Taking into account the quiet sobs the guy was clearly not okay.

 

Jungwoo had met Lucas twice before.

The first time Lucas had helped him carry groceries upstairs when the elevator wasn't working - that was the time Lucas had introduced himself and had come in for a cup of coffee - and the second time was when Jungwoo's fire alarm had gone off at 4am and his tall neighbor had checked in to see if everything was okay. Both times Jungwoo had watched him with curious eyes and ever-horny gazes.

Although they seemed to be the same age, Jungwoo had never felt the desire to deepen their relationship. It wasn't that he didn't consider Lucas handsome or that he didn't found himself having 'neighbor walks in on guy changing his light bulb naked' porn fantasies with the dude next door, it was a general refusal of any kind of _real_  romantic and sexual involvement (in this context: everything that happened outside his Internet browser).

Jungwoo was exhausted. Life had tired him enough in the early years to not leave much energy now for anything but survival. All he desired was a peaceful life with no drama and no possibility to get hurt. And maybe a pay raise.

 

"It-" Lucas almost stumbled over a pile of dirty clothes.

The apartment was filled with piles of things. A little island of clothes next to the TV, a huge island formed by empty packages in front of the broken mirror and a nation consisting of junk Jungwoo had promised himself to put away _later_. Later, in this context, described a time at which work and responsibilities didn't exhaust the man to the point of numbness. He hadn't felt _later_  since he'd graduated college.

"It hurts so damn bad. I don't know what to do. Can you tell me, if I- If my ear is still... there."

Apparently feeling quite at home, Lucas sat on the couch and waited for Jungwoo to inspect his wound. Jungwoo came closer, careful and cautious, hesitant to touch the guy.

It was peculiar how Lucas barged in with no shame as if they'd been friends forever. They were practically strangers. Jungwoo couldn't yet tell whether he liked the boldness. At least there was no draining awkwardness.

He stared at caramel mixed with scarlet for ten seconds before he realized there was so much blood he couldn’t make out where the wound was. "Wait, I'll get tissues first."

Quickly, he walked the six steps to what was his 'kitchen' - a lousy miniature version of a real one with a sink filled with plastic containers and one cupboard that had a missing door - and grabbed everything that looked like it might come in handy. "What happened?" he asked again. "What made you Vincent-van-Gogh yourself?" 

On his way back he spied on the counter the three hairpins which he kept around for whenever his bangs annoyed him. Those too he carried back.

Lucas sobbed into the palms of his white hoodie, "I- I tried to pierce my ears myself. I fucked up."

Jungwoo took sections of Lucas's soft hair between his fingers. "Don't move." His neighbor stopped whining. He pinned the right side of the man's hair neatly up, revealing his large (and whole) ear and simultaneously making him look cuter than he should be. Then he tilted Lucas's chin up with his index, trying to find the wound.

The man’s face was breathtakingly gorgeous, Jungwoo had to admit. From the distance, he was beautiful, however, up close, he was virtually stunning. He had the prettiest eyes Jungwoo had ever seen this close and by far the most inviting lips he'd ever secretly stared at. And stare he did.

Voice still shaky, Lucas explained, "I got a message when I was about to-" He was nearly crying. His plump lower lip was pushed forward, his eyes red and teary "I got a fucking gross dick pic when I was just about to pierce my ear." He looked up at Jungwoo who’d sneaked between his knees. "It caught me by surprise. I didn't just pierce my ear, I fucking cut it. Stabbed it. And then I forgot I was still holding the needle and accidentally cut my neck too."

Jungwoo opened his mouth to speak. His hands fell to his sides. He tried to say something, but he couldn't do anything except laugh. "Are you fucking serious?" Towels and tissues fell on Lucas's lap as Jungwoo bend over laughing. "What the fuck? That's so dumb."

His neighbor looked at him, slightly offended. "It was a really gross dick pic."

 

**2\. Chicxulub Impactor**

 

One level beneath the bleeding one and the laughing caretaker lived another man with an extraordinary soul. Johnny Seo was a tall guy with a contagious laugh and a personality made of honeycomb and blueberries. Johnny and Jungwoo had never met, even though both had been living in the building for over two years just meters away from each other.

_If_ they had met, they would’ve become friends fast, but - as life sometimes goes - they would never meet. They would never argue while playing UNO until dawn, nor watch cartoons and find out they somehow liked all the same shows. Jungwoo wouldn't be Johnny's best man at his wedding and neither would Johnny hold Jungwoo's hand at his mother's deathbed. No, in this dimension their friendship would never blossom. The lighting that should've caused a power failure in the building (resulting in their encounter outside in the rain) never strikes.

In this beautiful night, through Johnny's window, one could spy two things: one, a very clean apartment with no single-serving food packages and two, a man that wasn't Johnny Seo measuring ingredients for a chocolate cake. No, Johnny was in the hallway in front of the door with his fingers around the keys and his heart beating fast. His story began two hours earlier, but his tale too started with the electric sound of the doorbell.

 

"Johnny?" The voice grew louder the longer it took him to reach the door. "I know you're there. Don't be a bitch and open the door. I'm not gonna bother you for long, I promise."

The tall man opened the door with a sigh and replied, "Two minutes, Ten. Only two minutes. That's all the time it took me to get dressed and open the door and yet here you are making a scene this late."

"Get dressed?" The smaller raised his eyebrows in disgust. "I didn't wanna know how you spend your time alone."

Johnny fixed his sweatpants and ran his fingers through his unwashed hair. Uncomfortable self-consciousness crawled up his skin at the sight of the man in front of him looking like he always did: too handsome. Ten was wearing black ripped skinny jeans and a white shirt he himself had drawn on with black fabric marker. For someone like Ten white fabric and a pen were enough to create art. He'd drawn a multitude of things in the middle of the shirt, had layered them in a way which was unique and beautiful. Johnny ripped his eyes from the cosmos on Ten's chest. "What do you want?"

Ten walked in without waiting for an invitation. "My oven is broken. Can I use yours?" he asked, making his way to the kitchen. Nothing in the way he walked suggested that he was waiting for permission. 

"Seriously? Why?" Johnny followed him, visibly bothered.

The smaller gave him _the_ look. "I just told you my oven isn't working."

"No, I mean, why do you need to use an oven at 11pm? Go sleep." 

His neighbor took boxes with different ingredients out of a cotton bag. The bag too was drawn on in different colors. "I wanna make chocolate cake."

Johnny noticed the shortness of Ten’s undercut before he processed that his hair had looked much different when he’d met him in the elevator three days ago. It had been a dark brown and longer at the sides. Presently, neatly cut ear-length black hair fell over the undercut as Ten cocked his head to the side and gave him a revolted look. "Who even sleeps at 11pm? What are you twelve?"

Casually Ten pulled a hair tie out from behind the fridge. Johnny had no idea Ten had left it there, thus he watched him with a perplexed expression – one, that didn’t bother his neighbor much. A little too often for his liking had the small guy been using his kitchen lately; apparently often enough to find weird hiding places for his stuff. Mentally, Johnny made a note to search the back of the fridge for other things later. Especially pink and purple hues in a little bag.

" _'What are you twelve?'_ " mimicked Johnny Ten’s teasing. He rolled his eyes. "No, but some people need sleep. I gotta be up at six. Can't you come back tomorrow morning?"

He could’ve as well directed his words to the wall, for Ten was already getting ready for a baking session. The longer parts of his hair were put into a tiny palm tree on top of his head and he was wearing his pink apron. _The_ pink apron. A fucking mess of white frills and polka dots, which he’d gotten for Christmas from his mother and which he insisted on wearing every time he set foot into a kitchen. He looked like a caricature of something Johnny didn't have words for with his ripped jeans, his tattooed arms, and the baby pink apron. 

"I promised my kids I'd bring them cake tomorrow morning for breakfast. Do you want me to disappoint my kids?"

Johnny wouldn't really call the teenagers living at the shelter for LGBTQ+ youth _kids_  as most of them were above sixteen, but Ten always referred to them affectionately as 'his kids'. Quite unfairly, by mentioning his work, had Ten sneakily won this argument. Johnny couldn’t say 'no' without being a major dick. So, he shrugged and spoke, "God forbid. Seriously though hurry up. I need to sleep early and that's difficult with you around."

Ignoring the last part of his statement, Ten blew him a mock-kiss which caused goosebumps on his arms for all the wrong reasons. 

"I'll be gone in an hour, Johnnyboy."

Beaten, _Johnnyboy_ retreated into the bedroom to finish watching the video on government conspiracies and Justin Bieber being a lizard alien still playing on his laptop. He would need the distraction. The image of Ten in a pink apron had printed itself onto the back of his eyelids and made the muscular organ between his lungs fight itself. “Fuck”, mumbled he to himself as he heard Ten softly hum _505_ ’s melody in the kitchen. “Fuck.”

 

Johnny had met Ten on a beautiful Sunday morning. More precisely, Ten had knocked on his door violently, asking if he had running water, because somehow his own shower wasn't working. Shamelessly he'd asked if he could take a shower at his place and had justified it by arguing that the grandma next-door would suffer a stroke the moment she saw his full sleeve tattoos. Well, grandma Ying was known for her shouting fits and loud praying sessions in the elevator, so he did have a point.

Nine mornings had Ten come over to shower. Eight evenings had Johnny and Ten spent together. Six dinners had they cooked next to each other. Three times had Johnny made him cum the first - and last time- they had slept together.

It was Ten who had kissed him first and it was Ten who had insisted on staying friends only.

"That was dumb," he had said the next morning while getting dressed. His lips were still swollen and his cheeks ruby. "I don't wanna make this awkward and shitty. I don't want us to be all weird around each other when we meet in the hallway. You know, we're neighbors after all."

That day he had left the apartment in a hurry and it had taken him eight months and a broken oven to come over again.

Sometimes Johnny did feel a certain bitterness over the selfishness the decision carried. Ten had built and destroyed whatever had been between them single-handedly. If it had been Johnny’s choice... He tried not to think about it. A year had passed. It was history.

 

Over an hour passed and Ten was still in the kitchen. In fact, he'd put on his baking playlist and had started working on the batter with ridiculous passion. At least until he realized he'd run out of milk. "Johnny," he whined, "Johnny, come here. I need your help." 

Annoyed, Johnny barked, "I'm not gonna knead the dough again! Your cake, your job." Despite the facade of annoyance, he ambled into the kitchen immediately – to encounter Ten covered in flour and other unidentifiable ingredients. 

The black-haired man gave him a kittenish smile which introduced that he was about to ask him for a favor long before he spoke the next words. "I need milk. I spilled the whole fucking bottle and I've only put the first cake in the oven. I need three cakes. Please go get me some milk, Johnny. The supermarket is open till 2 am."

"Uh- Why don't you go yourself?" It was after midnight and all Johnny desired – except getting his neighbor out of his kitchen – was to get at least five hours of sleep.

"Look at me," Ten gestured up and down his flour-covered body. "Do I look like I can leave the house like this?"

It wasn't the right time to blush nor the right occasion to feel a questionable tingle down his spine, yet the longer Johnny looked at Ten the hotter he felt. "Fine,” sighed he. Certainly, he could use the fresh air.

 

One hour. One hour did it take Johnny to find a supermarket that sold milk. For some unbelievable reason the supermarket close to their building had run out of milk. He'd never encountered that obstacle before, however, he had also never tried buying milk at 1am. 

Johnny wasn't a stranger to late night walks. He had a thing for walks in solitude and stargazing, so marching back from the supermarket six blocks away was something he enjoyed. It was a simple thing, really, for him to find joy. Some people learned early on in life to find happiness in all the small things and if they couldn't find it, they would simply create it. Johnny too was one of those people.

Another fascinating thing about the man – who was currently meowing back at a black cat that had crossed his path – was how easily he connected with others; animals and humans alike. He himself would never grasp how unique his talent to make the ones around him feel validated was, yet, it was something that attracted people to him like moths found light. When he was six, he stopped his classmate from breaking a bully’s nose with three sentences, when he was fifteen, he’d calmed his best friend enough for him not to give up on himself on an ugly April morning – no, he’d promised to hold on till May once more – and at twenty-five he’d worked his counseling skills magically, changing more lives than he’d ever comprehend. For many, an hour with Johnny every week meant a new beginning.

 

As he stepped out of the elevator with the broken lightbulbs and made to unlock the door to his own apartment, he stopped. With his fingers around the keys and his heart beating fast, he wondered if Ten was still in there. The anticipation caused him to bite his lips and run his hands through his hair multiple times. “Be natural,” whispered he to himself while he was everything except natural.

"Honey, I'm home!" announced he jokingly as he opened the door. No reply. Music was blasting through the small apartment, a song which sounded weirdly familiar. In a quick motion he took off his shoes and stepped into the kitchen.

Ten had obviously not heard him. He was dancing around in his pink apron, holding a bowl and singing " _You belong to me. My poor heart aches with every step you take. Every move you make-"_

He looked like a Disney princess just before the animals magically appeared to be of help.

"Fuck," muttered Johnny to himself, almost dropping the plastic bag with the two milk bottles.

Ten stopped the second he saw Johnny. Embarrassment spread over the pretty face right before he turned to the kitchen counter, facing away from Johnny. "What took you so long?" He tried to sound composed. His red ears betrayed him. "I was about to file a missing person's report."

Johnny placed the bag on the kitchen counter. "Keep singing. That was cute."

"Shut up." The color of Ten’s ears changed to the deepest red color Johnny had ever seen. With courage, which only 1am offered, Johnny slid his hands into the back pockets of the small guy's jeans. "I’m serious. That was really cute."

He felt Ten's back stiffen against his touch. 

"Don't fuck with me, Johnny. This isn't funny." 

Long fingers wandered up the smaller's spine until they reached his neck. Johnny leaned forward to kiss the goosebumps covered skin. "I'm not." 

_Every vow you break, every smile you fake, every claim you stake, I'll be watching you._ The cheesy 80ies background music suited the sugary moment in which Ten turned around to catch Johnny's lips between his own. 

Ten turned, hopped on the kitchen counter with feline grace and pulled Johnny close by his neck. "Remember that one night? A really long time ago?" 

Johnny mumbled into his half-opened mouth, "Very funny. As if I could forget. You were quite a sight."

The smaller's laugh hit the back of Johnny's mouth. "Fuck off. Good to know you remember though. I thought you might have forgotten."

Both men halted, stared at each, tried to figure out what to do next.

"I’ll never forget how good you looked," smiled Johnny, fingers running along the frilly material of the apron. His fingertips were glued to the white ruffles above Ten's knees. "How damn loud you were."

Softly, Ten sneered, "You weren't really a quiet one yourself, Mr. Seo."

Then everything happened quickly. Bodies found their rhythm and lips crashed into each other. Clothes fell to the ground as they stumbled towards Johnny's bedroom. Mindlessly, Johnny closed his laptop - on the screen the proof that Justin Bieber was actually a lizard being - and pushed it off his bed. It landed softly on a pillow on the floor.

Greedily, Johnny’s hands wandered up and down Ten's naked torso; fast, as if they were trying to make up for all the potential touches they had missed in the span of a year. 

_BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP_

The fire alarm blared through the apartment, startling them both. 

"Fuck!" Ten jumped up, pulling up the shorts from around his ankles. "Fuck, no! The cake!"

Baffled, Johnny blinked. It took him quite some time to process the situation. Then, slowly, he got up and looked down his shorts. He should've just gone to sleep, he thought.

 

**3\. Exoplanet J2126**

 

Kim Jungwoo believed in three things from an early age:

  1. Happiness wasn't everyone's cup of tea; some people found their comfort in sadness.
  2. Chocolate had every right be considered a staple food.
  3. He had no time for things - nor people - that were fake, shallow or superficial. Or all three.



And for some reason, when Lucas sat in front of him, bawling his eyes out for he had hurt himself because of a dick pic, Jungwoo sensed a rawness radiating from him which was equal parts overwhelming and fascinating. With a half-pout on his very distracting lips, Lucas justified himself, "I wasn't expecting it. Stop laughing, Jungwoo. I feel dumb enough already.”

Jungwoo cupped his neighbor's chin with one hand and lifted it gently to have a better view of the wound on his neck. "Sorry. I wasn't expecting that. At least it'll make a great anecdote one day." He wiped away the trail of blood running down the man's neck and realized that much of the blood had already dried. He left to wet the towel and came back seconds later, his fingers cupping the handsome face again. 

"How bad is the pain?"

"I hope I'll survive," replied Lucas weakly. He raised one hand – as if he was trying to make sure his ear was still connected to his face – but dropped it quickly – as if he feared what he might find (or miss). It was ridiculous how intensely Jungwoo had to focus on the wounds to not gawk at the stunning features which attracted his gaze magnetically.

Casually, he kicked the empty instant noodle container which was loitering between their feet aside. He’d stepped on the fucking thing twice in the past five minutes. It landed in front of a stack of books which he’d planned to sort into the shelf _later_.

_BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP_

In the apartment below the fire alarm went off, the sound vibrating through the ceiling. With a groan, Jungwoo handed Lucas the blood-stained towel. "One second." He opened the door to the apartment, inhaled the musky air. No smoke.

"No fire,” he said and closed the door again.

Agitatedly, his neighbor played with the towel in his hands. "Should we check if everything's okay?" 

The 'we' caused Jungwoo to furrow his eyebrows for a split second. He wondered if the guy was always so blunt. "Let’s wait two minutes first. Someone probably burnt their toast or something. Nothing serious."

Although he still seemed rather concerned, Lucas gave in. "You're probably right."

At last, the loathed silence awkwardly embraced them as Jungwoo cleaned the wound carefully and slow – very slow. 

"So, what are you usually doing when you're not slicing your ear open and getting dick pics, Luke- Lucas?"

Jungwoo was not the type to do small-talk. See, to Jungwoo small-talk was like rotten eggs to other people. He hated it. Why he seemingly had changed his personality upon meeting Lucas was a mystery to him. There was the very unlikely possibility of him having an allergic reaction to the hand sanitizer he was rubbing into his palms. Well, considering the circumstances and the words that had just left his mouth... he deemed that quite plausible.

"I graduated two months ago. Architecture. Now I'm working at the McDonald's down the street." As Jungwoo disinfected his ear, Lucas bit his lip. Tiny sounds of pain escaped the pretty mouth. Visibly using all his strength to not whimper, he asked, "Wh- What about you?"

"Doing office work for an estate agent," Jungwoo gave him a 'It's over in a second'-smile, a soft one which felt unfamiliar on his lips. "Half the time I have no idea what I'm doing. I just type in stuff and print whatever they ask me to. Getting good use out of my English lit degree."

"I’m pretty sure no one really has a clue what they’re doing. Everyone’s just pretending to have stuff figured out," mumbled Lucas, fanning his ear. "Anyway. It doesn’t matter. We'll find better jobs, right?"

The way he worded the question, the way his tone changed in the middle of the sentence, gave Jungwoo the impression that he was seeking reassurance. Reassurance, which Jungwoo couldn’t offer.

"Sure," he replied. His answer dripped disagreement.

He could feel Lucas's gaze following him as he went to get more cotton swabs.

"What do you do to make yourself happy, Jungwoo? What's your thing?"

Jungwoo could hardly keep himself from rolling his eyes. He doubted Lucas was aware of how pretentious that sounded. "I don't know. I don't think I have a thing." He cleaned the area around the wounds meticulously. The cuts weren't deep and definitely not dangerous.

"I bet you have something and you're just not aware of it."

A little too aggressive Jungwoo countered, "Okay. What's your thing then?"

Not at all bothered by his hostile tone, Lucas replied in his caramel-dripping voice, "Designing. Designing clothes mainly, but since my family is against that I went with designing buildings." He sighed defeated, "Guess, we see how well that went. I'd rather work at McDonald's than force myself to work a nine to five in the field I studied 3 years. Thanks, mom and dad." The grin died before it ignited the light in his eyes and his words were as raw as his tone. Somehow his husky voice didn't fit his face; he sounded older, more mature than his friendly eyes and innocent grin gave away.

Kim Jungwoo did not believe in soulmates. At times he didn't believe in love either. What he did believe in though was the strange effect the guy he barely knew had on him. He partly blamed his own bodily desires for this (in this context: he needed to get laid), yet he couldn't deny that there seemed to be more to it. Later on, he'd often wonder why he had said the next words, why he didn't smile and shrug as had become his habit. It wasn't like him to spill his heart into the palms of strangers.

"Translating book. I want to translate books from English into Korean."

With genuine interest, Lucas asked, "How come?"

Jungwoo blew on the man's ear lightly, waited for the transparent fluids to dry on his skin. "Every translation is an interpretation, right? Managing to translate a novel, poetry or any work of fiction and still keeping the core, the essential meaning, that's fucking nice." His knee touched Lucas's. He stepped back. "Done."

"See, you have a thing," replied his neighbor, smiling widely. He had that sort of smile that made you want to smile too even if you had no real reason to be happy. After a moment he added, "The fire alarm stopped. "

Hesitant nodding was followed by bloody tissues and cotton swabs being thrown into the sink. Jungwoo would take care of those later. Lucas showed no signs of wanting to leave. His gaze wandered around the apartment with restlessness, taking it all in with worrying vigor.

Subtly, Jungwoo walked to the door. He wanted this to be over, whatever it was. Especially because of the dirty shorts in the corner of the room which he didn't want Lucas to see.

Fortunately, Lucas got the hint and got up. "Thank you. You saved me from death."

Jungwoo opened the door. "You're welcome. For the future... Maybe don't open messages from strangers while you're piercing your ears."

"Actually, I think I'm deleting Tinder for now." Pretty eyes looked down in embarrassment over the words while pouty lips were pulled into a cheeky smile. It was obvious he was seeking a follow-up question from Jungwoo, who wasn't sure whether he really wanted to hear the answer - not when he had no clue which answer to expect. Nonetheless, social clues embedded in the conversation forced him to ask, "Oh? How come?"

"I feel like we should all focus on-" Lucas gestured wildly, awkwardly. "-meeting people in real life."

The instant regret in his eyes made it obvious that he was well aware of how pretentious he sounded. Jungwoo appreciated the lousy attempt to flirt, however, he had no interest in being the guy's one-night stand.

"Good luck," smiled he politely. He closed the door a little.

Visibly dejected, Lucas stuttered, "Tha- Thanks again."

Another polite smile, the door moved another inch.

"Sleep well, Lucas. Bye"

Jungwoo closed the door and let out a groan. For what felt like an hour he leaned against the door. His heart was gnawing on his ribs it seemed. He was exhausted, yet his fatigue for once stemmed from another source than his mental condition: he was tired of his own mess.

_Later_ had come.

The first step consisted of taking out a plastic bag, the second cleaning the apartment - all while thinking about the softness of Lucas's skin.

Three years ago, Jungwoo had told himself that he'd stop engaging with things that had no soul. Whether it was art, movies, songs, he'd told himself to consume only what made him feel alive and to keep up only those relationships which had _the spark_. The particular spark which could easily ignite a fire in his mind. Nothing had gone the way he’d wanted. His relationships shattered and with them his hopes. For three years he'd lived with walls pulled up high and his expectations for himself low. He’d once desired the stars but now pretended to be satisfied with rocks.

Tonight, for a second, Jungwoo had unexpectantly felt it. That fucking spark. And he'd kicked it out.

When Jungwoo was too tired to clean any longer, he got into bed and played games on his phone. Sleep didn’t come and he didn’t feel like eating or getting off, so he watched the stars through his dirty window.

Shortly after 2am someone knocked on the door. It was so quiet at first the man thought he'd imagined the sound.

Armed with pepper spray and a pan, he opened the door an inch. He was looking at an empty hallway. Then his eyes fell upon two books on the doormat. They showed signs of age, both dog-eared and filled with notes written in messy writing. On one of the books stuck a post-it. It read: 

_'I saw that you own a copy of Kafka on the Shore and maybe you hate it and you won't ever finish it (or maybe you haven’t even started reading it?), but IF you like it: here are Norwegian Wood and 1Q84. Both are by the same author. If you've already read them never mind. If you haven't....... meet me once you’re done! Of course, you can come over before that too... :) but I mean I would like to discuss them with you. I've written notes on almost every page - sorry for that - but hey it's like I'm with you while you're reading them - which is really creepy I realize now that I've written this. Anyway. See you again. Lucas.'_

That night somewhere far, far away the gravitational pull on a very lonely star changed, causing it to move out of its orbit. It was truly an extraordinary sight.

What was also pretty extraordinary, was Jungwoo’s sudden awareness of how he would unquestionably crave McDonald’s tomorrow.

 

**4\. Chicxulub Impactor**

 

Seo Johnny believed in three things from an early age:

  1. Happiness was something you had to work on every single day.
  2. Listening to a song for the first time should only be done with headphones on (not speakers!).
  3. Hard work always paid off in the end.



"Well it's burned," said Ten flatly. Mercilessly, he threw the burnt cake in the bin. "I only have enough dough for two more cakes. Shit.” He sat on the kitchen counter and took his phone out. “Usually three are barely enough for my vultures." 

The tattoos on Ten's back - a violet dragon and a white bird - were captivating. Johnny would've given everything for Ten to forget about the damn cakes and get into bed with him again, where he'd trace the designs on his body until dawn. But no, the determined gaze in the other's eye was a warning not to suggest such a thing. Not until the cake dilemma was over.

Johnny leaned against the fridge, watched the shirtless guy use the calculator app to figure out how many ingredients he'd need to make it three cakes. "You could buy one tomorrow morning," suggested he and graciously didn’t add 'Which reminds me: I have to be up in 5 hours, yet here we are', although he truly felt like it.

"That's cheating." Ten ran his fingers through the longer parts of his silky hair and stunned Johnny for probably the tenth time that night. "We have a strict 'no phone' policy during group meetings and whoever breaks it has to bring cake for everyone at the next session. Guess who forgot?" He pointed at himself.

"Can't you make an exception? It's your rule after all." 

The proposal earned him a disappointed glare. "That's not how it works."

Exhaustion embraced Johnny gradually and forcefully. He shrugged and turned to leave the kitchen. "Then knock yourself out." The magic of the moment had left and all that lingered between them was Ten's stress and Johnny's sleepiness.

"Johnny… Wait."

The tall man halted in the door frame without turning around.

"Mind helping me?" asked Ten in his sweetest voice.

Johnny knew then that he wouldn't get any sleep that night.

 

Shortly before 4am the two men were sitting across each other on the kitchen floor, eating raw cake batter and talking about how sometimes nothing felt real and everything felt temporary and simply fucking weird. The situation, the warmth, the way how easily their conversation developed, resembled one year ago, before Ten decided that the idea of _them_ was against his neighbourly codex.

"Okay, but how do you tell if a painting is _the_ painting?" asked Johnny while picking chocolate chips out of the batter. "Is it like an analytical thing?"

A tiny laugh, small fingers traced a tattooed arm. "No, no. In the end, it's about what makes you _feel_ something. When you look at – let’s say… a painting – and you _feel_ it and you go home and you keep thinking about it and later, much later, when you've almost forgotten what it looked like – but you still somehow know what it made you feel- Like, the feeling stays with you and shapes you and-" He broke off, lost in his own thoughts. When he looked up again he smiled shyly. That shy smile was unfamiliar, like it belonged to someone else entirely and was only borrowed for the moment. "That's great art. For me at least."

The words hooked into Johnny's mind, planted their seeds in his brain. He’d go over them once more the next time he was in a museum or something. "Noted."

Back in the kitchen, they'd gotten lost in conversations about everything and nothing, worked on dough and melted chocolate with their elbows touching and their hands brushing whenever they reached for the same bowls.

Johnny hadn’t brought up what they had almost done in his bedroom a little while ago and neither had Ten. Somehow it never seemed to fit the conversation.

It was only when the third – and last – cake was done baking that Ten said, "It almost happened again, huh." He stopped washing the dishes abruptly although he was only halfway done and hopped on the just cleaned kitchen counter again. Everything about the way he looked at Johnny screamed that he wanted to talk about something serious.

Instinctively, Johnny dropped his kitchen towel and shifted closer. "Would it have been bad if it had happened?" 

Lips sealed in thought, a pretty head was tilted to the side.  "No, that’s not it."

"What is it then?" Johnny tiptoed around the man's words, tried to give him the space he needed while simultaneously finding out what the issue was. 

"I don’t wanna hate you, Johnny." Ten looked him up and down, measuring his reaction. When he realized that Johnny was waiting for him to continue, he added, "Wouldn’t that be the end result of whatever we do? Either you fuck up – or I do – and we both have to avoid each other, have to pretend we don’t see each other at the bus station, in the elevator, in the basement, whatever. I like you. I don’t wanna ruin it, you know. I don't want you to be another person to run away from."

The words played forward and back in Johnny's mind as he contemplated them with narrowed eyebrows and pursed lips. "Be honest: Aren’t you curious what we could be if we were a thing? I mean, before I turn into ' _another person to run away from_ '?"

Ten pulled Johnny between his legs by his hips, hooked his fingers around the elastic of his shorts, offered him a sincere, "I am. I really am."

Johnny's fingers locked behind Ten's neck. He didn't come closer, but his fingertips introduced themselves to the undercut. "Then don’t you think we should give it a try? We can see how it goes. No drama, nothing too serious. But maybe a cute date?"

Mock-scandalized, Ten exclaimed, "Are you asking me out?" Feline eyes sparkled in all the ways that made Johnny gasp for air.

"Hypothetically, if that was the case would you say ‘yes’?" With a smirk, he specified, "Without regretting it tomorrow morning."

"I don’t know. Maybe it’s because it’s four fucking o’clock in the morning, but yeah, I might say 'yes'."

In a smooth motion, Johnny kissed the back of his hand. "Sealed. No take-backs or returns."

Again, it was Ten who kissed him first, but this time the order of things were changed as it was Johnny who carried him into the bedroom. 

 

For the first time in a year, Johnny fell asleep holding someone in his arms. He woke up twice before his alarm rang and both times he stared at Ten's face until he fell asleep. "If you recognize great art by whether it makes you feel something or not," he thought to himself just before the heavy weight of his eyes forced him into slumber again, "I must be looking at a fucking masterpiece."

 

**5\. Proxima Centauri**

 

On a beautiful autumn night, two planets encountered each other. At the same time, just a universe away, two asteroids met, their fates intertwining. Apartment building 13430 connected countless souls over its infinite life span, but that night was a spectacle for every observer. Through dirty windows and thin curtains the moon and the stars watched their children collide and fall in love, knowing very well that the effects the four people in the two apartments would later on have on the world were truly impressive.

Now, the sun is about to rise and the moon is tired. So, let’s end this tale with the beginning of another story: yours. I’ve been told by the second star to the right that there’s a very extraordinary person who…


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